This is how it will end for us all
by Naz
Summary: Maedhros reflects on events after the Sack of Doriath.


This is how it will end for us all.

I know I have to try and keep my wits about me—I am the eldest, after all, despite all this—but when I kneel besides the body, it is partially because I cannot stand anymore.

I do not expect sympathy, and I do not want pity. I have never, and especially not now. Not after all we've done. We have laid the lives of others in ruin; who should care if our own are destroyed? I am sure that children were killed before, though I would rue such a fact.

So why should it matter, why should anyone care that here I am, standing beside the corpse of one of my younger brothers?

His name escapes my lips, and I move to hold his body and lay it in my lap. Blood dribbles out into my lap. His hair is matted with it. Nearby lays his foe, slain as well. I start. The Lord of Doriath.

My second brother, a killer. He always had a short temper—his Mother name was most appropriate—but who ever would have dreamed he would become as such? He had a temper, but he never would hurt someone much. He would apologize, even if I had to push him to do so.

He loved his hound. He loved to be outdoors. I remember the first day he came home with Huan, how his face shone. Atar's expression when he saw his third son running in with a large hound bounding after him. It was difficult enough to keep him inside before; now he almost lived out of doors. Sometimes he treated Huan better than his own kin. Though perhaps that can be understandable. He came when we left, following faithfully. And now what has become of him? One more vestige of the past gone. He decided to betray my brother, but only because he was acting as such that Huan probably couldn't recognize him anymore. Who he had become was so different from who he used to be.

I am speaking for a _hound_.

But we have all changed. Horrifically.

I remember the day he was born. My other brother and I, sitting in a dark room, waiting to hear that the baby had been born. Seeing him and mother when it was all over. He could hardly keep his eyes open. Too tired to look at the new world about him. He grew swiftly, and I cared for him, and my brother helped. And when he had grown, he helped with the others that came after.

I held you as a baby. I knew you as a child. And now, I hold you in death. I feel as though I should cry, and am almost confused when the tears do not rise. My throat does constrict, and breathing becomes difficult. I brush back his hair from his face and try to wipe away the blood. I used to have to scrub his face; sometimes he would get so dirty from crawling through underbrush. From that to a killer. From that to death.

How long have I been here? I do not know. I do not start when I feel a hand on my shoulder. "The others…" Macalaurë's voice comes from above, seeming far away and quiet. "The other two. Carnistir and Atarinkë." Maybe he will finish his thought, but I have already guessed it. They are dead as well. Two more of my little brothers have been slain. They were murderers, too. We all are. Macalaurë, our sweet-voiced minstrel, my very first brother, very first charge, so like our mother, is a murderer. Blood is drying on his hands. His hair is undone.

I nod. I feel so weary and desolate.

"There is another matter," says my brother, kneeling beside me. "The sons of Dior. They have been left, somewhere without, in the forest."

"To die?" I stir a little. "Left to die?" Macalaurë nods. "So many and now this." I am tired. And now, angry. I look down at my other brother, body still in my lap. I must go, and must keep going. This Curse drives us still; I cannot stop it. And there are still Macalaurë and the Ambarussa to mind.

"Shall this be our end?" I murmur. "I have known you all since your births, Macalaurë. Shall I bear witness to your deaths as well?"

He is pained, I see, but I cannot take back what I have said. He helps me to stand, and I can feel him shaking; his eyes are glassy, but he will not let the tears fall. I grip his shoulder with my remaining hand, then turn to look down one last time on the corpse of our brother.

"Namárië, Tyelcormo," I whisper. Together, Macalaurë and I stride out of the room.

I am so weary.


End file.
